


Falling in Zero Gravity

by klanceiscanonking (marsroverVEVO)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Art Student Keith (Voltron), Art Student Lance (Voltron), College, College Student Keith (Voltron), Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, frohes Jubiläum meine Schätze, i promise this is gonna be cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-16 16:06:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16957155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marsroverVEVO/pseuds/klanceiscanonking
Summary: Lance moves to the big city and immediately gravitates towards Keith. Whether it's chance or fate, Keith isn't sure how he feels about this kid. Little does he know that he's gonna see a lot more of him in the coming days... and months... and years.





	1. Chapter 1

Cardboard boxes stretched from the floor to the ceiling, the precarious stacks threatening to tumble over at any second. The front door was propped open with a winter boot, no longer needed in the sweltering summer heat. A stagnant summer breeze lingered in the kitchen, hardly circulating anything other than sweaty glances. 

Lance sat against the cabinets, tank top stuck to his back with sweat like super glue. He fanned himself lazily with the lid of a well worn tupperware box, dishware wrapped in newspaper set between his knees. He yawned looking out at the mess of a house that lay before him. The house that once seemed so open and welcoming was now covered in hours of endless work. 

He had finally saved up to take his happy ass from unairconditioned dorms to an unairconditioned apartment. After his sophomore year, work had been hard to find. Especially within the art field. Everyone says art doesn’t pay, but damn, there was a little part of him that always wanted to believe it wasn’t fully true. But regardless of how things had unfolded, he had moved out to Los Angeles for school and now he was stuck. The city of dreams, sort of. He had found a place that he was paying way too much for, had tuition that was getting higher and higher each year, and still had to find a job to boot. 

“What the fuck have I done?” he laughed to himself, carefully unwrapping a mug. The sun flooded in, dredging the kitchen in a golden light. He stood up, stretching his stiff legs. Running the faucet, he filled the mug with tepid water, taking a sip, “This is my life now. Warm water, no AC, all alone. This is how people become strippers,”. He laughed, shaking his head. He hummed to himself as he started to home the dishes in various cupboards and drawers. Despite getting through another two boxes, he still had a whole mountain to conquer. 

By the time that Lance had given up on unpacking for the day, the sun had slunk down past the horizon and the stars had started to peek through the haze of a sunset. His stomach grumbled as if on cue as a pizza delivery car pulled up in his neighbor’s driveway. Not knowing what sort of food was remotely close, he tugged on a pair of worn down sneakers. He kicked the boot into the front hall, locking the front door behind himself.

The bright lights of Taco Bell signs were enticing after a long day of work, but the stomach pain, not so much so. He kept walking past all the fast food, looking for the hidden gems of the city. His family had always preached about the importance of real home cooking, not cheap fast food. “Convenience doesn’t take away the fact that the food is shit,” his dad would always preach over Sunday dinner. Of course that never fully deterred Lance from savoring the delicious burn of Baja Blast heartburn.

He looked at his phone, the display blinking with three missed calls from his mom. All from over an hour ago.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself, immediately dialing her number and holding his phone to his ear. 

“Lance- mijo- is that you?” his mother’s voice was weak and shaky. His heart flipped in his chest. 

“Sì, mama, it’s me. Is everything alright? Are you okay?” he turned up his volume with a nervous finger.

“Everything was…” she trailed off with a weak cough, “Until my stupid son forgot to call me back and let me know that he wasn’t dead!”. 

Her demeanor completely flipped as she began to berate him with the angry love that could only come from the true love of a parent, “You little- you little- you promised you would let me know that everything would be okay! You should see the look on Veronica’s face! Oh you’re so lucky that you’re already gone, otherwise you’d be dead four times over!”.

Lance’s face broke into a smile as he sheepishly rubbed his neck, “Lo siento, mama, I was busy…”. He kicked a pebble down the sidewalk, knowing that excuse wouldn’t fly. His mother’s voice picked up on the other end, confirming his suspicions. She berated him about being eaten by coyotes or kidnapped by thieves. Somewhere in the background, he could hear Luis pipe up and say something about the dangers of quicksand in the desert. 

“Mama- mama-” he tried to speak over her angry love, “I’m okay. I got a few boxes unpacked today and am looking for some food for dinner right now. I’m not gonna starve, there are no coyotes for miles, and quicksand has only ever been dangerous for Wile E. Coyote and the Roadrunner,”.

He could practically hear her eyes roll through the receiver of the phone as she sighed, “Eat a good dinner, make sure you drink enough water… Just be safe, Lance. We all miss you, mijo,”.

Lance’s heart melted a little bit, his smile slipping to a nostalgic crooked grin, “I promise that I’ll stay safe, I love you, Mama,”. He murmured a few more goodbyes before pressing the little red button and slipping his phone back into his pocket. A small motorbike with a delivery basket flew past him in a puff of exhaust. The bright red helmet of the driver caught his eye as it pulled up to the curb a few blocks away. The rider hopped off the bike with a basket, taking it into a building with a matching red awning. His interest was now piqued as he made a beeline to the establishment. He stood outside the shop, trying to make sense of the sign. It definitely wasn’t in English and it was very intimidating, but all the pictures looked like fried chicken- which is delicious, and the smell was intoxicating. The fear of not knowing what he was ordering was heavily out weighed by the prospect of fried chicken, as he pushed on the door. 

A bell chimed over head as the overwhelming smell of amazing fried food filled his nose. It wrapped around his feet and welcomed him in like a warm hug. Despite what smelled like amazing food and it being a Saturday night, the place was empty except for a few businessmen sitting at the kitchen counter.

A young teenager looked up from a table she was scrubbing at and smiled, tucking the rag into an apron pocket.

“Welcome in to Seoul Food, pick any seat you’d like and feel free to look over our menu! Someone will be with you shortly,” she chirped as she ducked behind a curtain that presumably lead to the kitchen. He shuffled over to a table, pulling up a stool and taking a seat. He picked up the menu that was placed in a little plastic stand, flipping through it he figured out that he couldn’t read a damn thing. He looked around blankly for anyone to help him. The kitchen curtain fluttered, but there wasn’t a soul around to help him.

Behind the curtain, the small girl crossed her arms. 

“No way. Nuh uh. A deal’s a deal. Just because it’s dead in here doesn’t mean I’m gonna take him because you don’t want to. He sat in your section. He’s your customer,” she shook her head, staring down her coworker.

“Pidge, please, I really really don’t want to,” he emphasized with a pointed hand, “You don’t understand how much I don’t,”.

“That’s too bad, bucko, someone’s gotta explain to Mr. John Doe over there that ‘Don’t worry. You aren’t having a stroke. You can’t read this because it’s fuckin’ Korean’. Also the name tag says Katie, dumbass. We aren’t at school,” she sweetly smiled, pushing out of the curtains.

Lance looked up at the squabbling to see another waiter, angrily whisper-cursing who he assumed was the other waitress. A hand reached out from the curtain, pushing him further out. He straightened up, putting on a semi pleasant face as he turned around, Lance politely smiled back.

“Hi, I’m Keith, you need some help there?” the waiter gestured to the menu that lay flat on the table.

“Hey, I’m Lance,” he smiled, staring at his face. Keith had a strong face with a birthmark that stretched from his jaw to his cheekbone. It was striking purple color that stood out against his tanned skin. 

“Okay… So do you need help or not, Lance…?” he faltered as the other boy stared at him without taking a hint, “This is the part where you answer,”.

Lance shook his head to break his stare, “God- sorry, I totally just spaced. Yeah, I definitely need some help. I don’t speak or read any of this,” he vaguely pointed to the signs.

Keith nodded, this kid was kind of an idiot, “This is a fried chicken place, there’s a few options. Any idea of what you want?”.

“I mean I don’t know where to start. What’s the best thing to get?” he sheepishly smiled, oblivious to the other’s disinterest.

“The traditional bone-in wings are good, but this is all pretty okay” he shrugged off the incredibly annoying question.

“That sounds good to me,” Lance smiled, closing his menu and handing it to Keith, “Could I get some water, too?”.

Keith took it, sticking it under his armpit, “Yeah, one sec,”.

He turned around calling the order back into the kitchen, grabbing a pitcher of water and a glass from a cart. Setting down the menu, he took the water back to his table. Pouring a glass, he tried to ignore his staring patron who seemed determined to bore a hole into his face. This kid was weird. Like not creepy weird, but more like he had no boundaries. He finished pouring the water, turning on his heel and briskly walking back towards the kitchen.

“Thank you, Keith!” Lance called out after the quickly retreating waiter. He slightly smiled, drumming his fingers on the table. He seemed like a nice enough guy, sucks that he was still in retail though. Looking around the shop, he got a better glance at what exactly he had walked into. A small tv hung on the wall in front of him displaying some sort of variety show where a group of men had to try breaking their face through a cling wrapped screen as quickly as possible… Interesting… The rest of the walls were painted a bright red with a scattering of posters depicting some very delicious and presumably ungodly spicy food. He spun a chopstick between his fingers as he turned his attention back to the tv. 

In this kitchen, Keith was seconds away from strangling Pidge. There was a more than compromising Snapchat that was at stake. Triple chins were involved, filters were used, it was bad to say the least. Pidge ducked behind a shelf, waggling her phone that was just out of reach. 

 

“First making me take the table and now this? Matt was right when he said you were a fucking sadist,” he hissed, swatting at her.

“He was in your section. That’s how waiting tables works, ya dong,” she laughed, popping up on the other side of a dish bin.  
Keith sighed, resigning himself to whatever humiliation the picture would hold. He was too tired to do this shit anymore. The bell on the counter rang out as a plastic basket of wings slid across the metal shelf. He took a deep breath, rallying any strength left in his tired, tired soul. Picking up the basket with one hand, he grabbed a tray of side dishes with the other, before ducking out from behind the kitchen curtains. Weaving around the spare stools, he made it to Lance, setting down the basket and tray.

“Here’s your order, Luke, enjoy or whatever,” he shrugged, turning away.

“It’s Lance,” Lance awkwardly replied, tugging the basket closer, “But uh… do you wanna take a break and maybe split these with me? I’ve been kinda lonely since I moved here and would love the company, Kurt”. 

Lance flashed a snarky grin, pushing out the stool across from him with an outstretched leg. Keith faltered, glancing back at the table. While this kid seemed obnoxious and was definitely mocking him, he wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to sit during the last hour of a ten hour shift.

“Sure. Why not. I mean, it’s not like I don’t already eat enough fried chicken as is,” he quipped, taking the offered seat. Keith stretched out his legs with a soft groan, the lack of pressure really drew attention to the blisters forming over every inch of his feet.

“Hey man, I don’t mean to bug you since you just sat down, but I didn’t order half of this,” Lance awkwardly chuckled, gesturing to the plethora of side dishes.

Keith made a weird face, shaking his head, “Dude, those are banchan. They’re free,”.

“They’re what now?”.

“Banchan,” Keith sat up straighter, “Y’know. Like the free side dishes you get at Korean places?”.

“I mean I don’t but that’s pretty awesome,” Lance grinned at the thought of free food, scooping up one of the dishes, and all but shoveling it into his mouth. Immediate regret crossed his face. Sour and spicy flavours filled his mouth instantaneously as he tried to chew.

“Wha’ thu ‘ell is ‘is shi’?” he spoke around the food, eyes tearing up. 

Keith was taken aback at first. This boy was the biggest idiot he’d ever met. Sure Korean culture wasn’t huge, but everyone had to know what kimchi was- even if it was just a drag queen.

“That’s kimchi. Pickled cabbage with red pepper… Lance, you’re an idiot. It’s to be eaten slowly. It’s spicy. That’s why it’s neon red,”.

“So ya do know my name-” Lance turned away, coughing into his elbow. He was no stranger to spice in the least, but fuck, Koreans were on some next level shit.

Keith rolled his eyes for what must have been the millionth time that night. This kid had played him like a damn fiddle, and had even gone so far as to hurt himself for the sake of being in the right.

Lance downed his glass of water in between coughs and hiccups alike, “You should’ve warned me that that was gonna be spicy,”.

“The entire dish was neon red. It was the same color of flaming hot cheetos, what did you expect?”.

Lance shrugged, pouting, “I dunno… I’ve never had Korean food before. I grew up eating only strawberry uncrustables up until like eighth grade,”.

“Of course you did,” Keith hummed, picking up a pair of chopsticks and a dish.

“So how’d you find this place? Why’d you pick to work here?” Lance asked, picking up a wing and taking a tentative bite. Immediate spice hit him, but it was nothing like the pain of the surprise kimchi.

“It wasn’t much of a choice, my parents run the joint. I’ve been working here basically since I could walk. They at least had me wrapping silverware after school,” He shrugged taking another bite.

Lance smiled, nodding in understanding. He polished off the wing, setting the bone back in the basket.

“It’s a good place to work at least. What do you do?” Keith asked, grabbing a wing of his own.

“I’m actually at the UCLA, I’m working on a photography major. Hopefully I can pick up some clients out here, maybe a few weddings too if I’m lucky. I’ve done it for a while now and I’ve been pretty lucky in building my portfolio, but this city is all kinds of different,”. Lance took a swig of water.

“Where’re you from?” Keith asked, unfortunately getting invested in this conversation.

“Santa Fe, born and raised,” Lance shot a finger gun with a crooked smile.

Something in Keith felt kinda funny with that smile. This was a horrible idea. Everything was a bad idea when it came to this kid. He was a force to be reckoned with and Keith had only known him for a mere handful of minutes. Not to mention that Keith turned his attention to the tv, stifling a laugh at a snide comment from the game show host. 

“What about you?” Lance volleyed the question back, taking the opportunity to go back to eating.

“Dad’s from Texas, but mom’s from Korea. I was born in Korea but moved here when I was like three. Mom opened up the shop with my dad and we’ve been here ever since,”.

“Korea? That’s kinda far away from here, pardner” Lance chuckled at the jab.

“Just a little” Keith let the statement hang in the air. What a stupid joke.

Lance softly smiled, turning back to his dinner. This kid wasn’t gonna budge or give into any sort of small talk, but that was okay. It was just good to be in the presence of someone else after such a long day. They sat in silence as they worked their way through the wings. Lance would glance over at Keith every now and then, appreciating his company. Sure, he was probably just exploiting him for the free food and break from working, but it was still nice. 

“How old are you?” Lance prodded with another question.

“Twenty, you?” Keith mumbled. God this kid was asking so many questions.

“Hey, me too!” he grinned, “Well until like next Saturday at least. Bummer that I’ve gotta go back to school on Monday though,”.

“Yeah, it’s gonna be a rough year,”.

Wait a second. Did Keith just actually give up a piece of information about his life? There was not prompting. There were no questions. Keith had just budged, no matter how minimally and for someone like Keith, Lance knew that was huge.

“What’s your major?” Lance asked, not fully sure if Keith was student, but he was determined to take the risk and hopefully get to have a shit-eating grin.

Keith sighed, mother fucker had got him, “Music with a focus in guitar performance,”.

A knowing, crooked grin spread across his face. 

“That’s really cool. I’ve always wanted to learn guitar, but my mom made me take piano lessons which I would skip to play Pokemon,”.

And at that, Keith almost smiled. As Lance finished up his meal, there was sparse conversation. A couple of customers filed in from outside and were waiting on a table, so Keith softly thanked Lance for the break and dipped out. Lance finished the last of his water and stacked up his plates. Glancing at the bill, he put down a couple bills, leaving a very generous tip. He threw a wave over his shoulder as he began his walk back home. The sun had long since set and the street lamps buzzed overhead as flurries of bugs flocked to the fluorescence. A crooked smile found a place on his lips as he recounted dinner with his new friend. He all of a sudden was bound and determined to get this kid to like him. First step was getting him to come to his birthday party. Lance’s crooked smile shifted into a mischievous grin. Keith had no idea what was gonna hit him.


	2. Maybe Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> here's the angst y'all have been waiting for! (or maybe not, sorry <3)

Monday morning showed up in a brilliant ‘fuck you’ splendor. The sun was already beating down on the pavement bringing it up to a balmy 95 degrees at 8:30 in the morning. Nerves of a new school year bubbled up in Lance’s chest, but the excitement overtook any fear in his system. He sat up in bed, rolling out a sleep stiffened shoulder with a pop. He fumbled for his glasses that sat on his nightstand, slipping them on with a clumsy hand. Lance picked up his phone, pulling up his carefully cultivated first-day-of-school playlist. Pressing start, he could finally start his day.

He stood in front of his bathroom mirror, scrubbing his face with a damp washcloth. Nicki Minaj blasted from a speaker on the counter, filling the room with what could only be considered as ‘bubblegum bitch’ pop. 

“By the way- what he say- he can tell I ain’t missin’ no meals-” Lance sang along, splashing water on his face, “Come through and fuck ‘im in my automobile- let him eat it with his grills and he tellin' me to chill-”.

Lance continued on with an indescribably odd dance number as his hands carried on with his skin care routine and his lower half really went to town. Slathering on moisturizer, he finished the song with the dream of a death drop, mimed with a very loud tongue pop. He then slid into the kitchen where he pulled out the breakfast of champions, one single peach yogurt and a Redbull. He opened a kitchen drawer to reveal two lint balls and a packet of McDonalds brand ketchup, the next contained a herd of dust bunnies, the last, absolutely nothing. Without a spoon, Lance was left to the most primal of instincts, he had no choice. He tipped his head back and waterfalled the yogurt into his mouth. Classy.

Meanwhile, Keith had simply woken up, cursed the day, and started making breakfast. He began to fry an egg with some bacon, toast already going in the toaster. It was his go to breakfast, but realistically, it was probably the only time he’d eat breakfast all year. He flipped a switch on an ancient radio, letting the sound of the news fill the apartment. The weather was going to be unbearably hot, go figure, but at least the traffic didn’t sound so bad. He flicked the pan up swiftly, elegantly flipping his breakfast 180 degrees to cook the other side. Meanwhile, the coffee maker chugged away, slowly dripping out drop after drop of the only thing saving his overworked ass. Keith hummed to himself as he poured a cup of coffee and sat down at his table to eat. Looking out the window, the city stretched before him. People watching was his favorite sport as of late, just because people can be so stupid. He’d seen kids walk straight into street signs, drunk girls cuddling up to shrubs who were apparently ‘so much better than her friends’, and best of all, those prissy sixteen year olds on their hoverboards absolutely eating shit. It was magnificent. This morning, the focus of his attention was a mom and her stroller. The mom was busy catching up with a friend, discussing the likes of hot yoga and quinoa salads, most likely. Meanwhile, her child had stuck both legs into one side of the stroller seat and was in the middle of an Ocean’s Eleven style escape. The kid gave a quick shimmy and was free, not before snagging their sippy cup, they took off down the street with a chaotic speed. The fear and embarrassment flooded the mother’s face as her iced coffee hit the pavement and she took off after her kid. Keith snorted, toddlers were a force to be reckoned with.

Keith ate right out of the pan, breathing hard through the pain of the scalding hot eggs. Followed by even hotter coffee, Keith regretted eating breakfast and came to the same conclusion he always came to- that breakfast is overrated. Throwing the remainder into a tupperware container, it was thrown in his backpack for lunch too. Quickly changing into a clean outfit, he slipped on shoes and was out the door. Walking out to his sad excuse for a garage, he pulled a helmet out from under his arm. He slung his backpack over his shoulder, pulling on his helmet. Wheeling out a bright red motorbike, Keith swung a leg over the side, revving the engine. He pulled out of the garage in a huff, leaving a cloud of dust. The hot sun beat down on the freeway as Keith passed cars right and left.

Lance stepped off of the bus already soaked in sweat. There was nothing like sitting like sardines while the temperature pushed up into the triple digits. He wiped his brow, grimacing at the sheen that covered his fingers. It was just gonna be one of those days. He walked across campus, checking his phone for his schedule. 95 percent of him thought he had portraiture with Gunderson, the other five thought he would be across campus for art fundamentals with Smythe. Much to his dismay, the other five of him was right, and the other five also was going to make him late. Lance threw a tantrum for approximately .002 seconds before taking off across campus.  
“Of course I’m gonna be late on the first fucking day of school-” he whined, anchoring himself on a railing as he rounded a corner. Lance burst through the university building, taking stairs two at a time. He bobbed and weaved in between his peers as he ascended the floors. He tried to calm his breathing before entering the classroom. He gently opened the door, peeking his head in… But there was no one there…

“Wait, what?” Lance wondered aloud. He sat down at one of the easels sliding his backpack to the ground as he double checked his schedule. He was in the right place. Right day. Right class. But, his phone said 10:30 and his class schedule said… 11:00. Lance sighed, rolling his eyes. Of course, it was. He hummed to himself as he scrolled on his phone, spinning a pencil between the fingers of his other hand. 

The door swung open as other students started to file in. However, they were much better on time and noticeably less flustered than he. At the same time, a familiar face walked in through the door. Lance was too distracted to notice him, but the mullet would have absolutely been unmistakable. Keith on the other hand was caught off guard by the sight of Lance in his classroom. But more than that- he was not expecting totally perfect skin covered in a spattering of freckles. Or the stunning blue eyes that were staring off into space. Or the fact that this damn kid was showing off impressively tone muscles in a barely-there tank top. He stumbled over the threshold of the door as he was painfully brought back into reality. 

Lance heard the frantic scuffling and looked towards the doorway and was pleasantly surprised. A huge grin spread across his face as Keith shamefully walked past him.

“Morning, Keith,” Lance smiled, “What a small world this is,”.

Keith paused, gripping the doorway, before righting himself on his own two feet. He brushed his hair out of his eyes and regained his composure.

“Morning,” Keith sighed, pulling up one of the few remaining seats behind Lance.

Lance leaned over onto his easel, tossing his phone onto his bag, “What brings you here? I thought you were a music major,”.

“Yeah, but no matter what, everyone has to take art fundamentals. Like it’s a requirement, prerequisite thing,” he shrugged, trying to ignore how much Lance looked like Adonis. His heart crept up into his throat, threatening to strangle him on the spot.

“Suppose so. What classes are you taking this semester? Any more that we might share?” Lance needled, appreciating what the natural light was doing for Keith as opposed to the fluorescence from last night.

“Uhh… not much I guess. I’ve got a guitar performance class, vocal lessons, this, composition, and another one that I can’t remember,” Keith kept it vague.

“Sounds like a lot of fun. You should let me know when your concerts are so I can come to support my new friend,” Lance smirked, shooting him with finger guns.

There went his fucking heart. Luckily he could hide his blush by turning his attention to the extravagant and flamboyant man that had burst through the door. Wearing what could only be described as the creative vomit of a farmers market art show, this man was decked out from head to toe. Well, not toe, he was barefoot.

“Good morning, my darling dewdrops,” he trilled out, throwing a macrame bag onto the lecture podium, “My name is Coran Hieronymus Wimbledon Smythe, but you all can call me Coran-Coran the Gorgeous Man!”. He flashed the class a giant wink that elicited both groans and laughter. He rummaged through his bag, pulling out what looked like a worn spellbook, stolen from the witches you hear about in fairy tales. Flipping through pages, he found the desired page with a triumphant laugh. 

“Ha ha!” he cried, beginning attendance. This man was either the definition of anti-climactic or just straight up bonkers.

Lance and Keith responded to their names as called, trying to reign in whatever chaotic energy that was their professor. They exchanged a glance with one another. Lance looked positively enthralled, Keith however, looked like he was about to skip every single day possible. Their attention was turned back to their professor who had seemingly pulled a wand out of nowhere and was directing the class with their first assignment. Their first assignment was to practice shading and value ranges by drawing whatever they saw right in front of them. Lance got the thankless task of drawing the chalkboard that stretched across the front wall. Sure he got to draw Professor Smythe, but could he really consider that a win? He sighed, setting up his sketchbook and pulling out a multicolored pen. He was fully unprepared. Keith, on the other hand, was luckier. Much luckier. Lance, apparently, was as pretty from the back as he was from the front, that mother fucker, Keith decided as he studied the back of Lance’s head. The way his perfectly natural curls gave way to his strong and lithe build, all dotted with freckles. Keith began to draw, trying to do Lance any justice that he could in the slightest. Sure he was never the biggest artist, but he wasn’t necessarily bad. He had been called gifted, but that was a cop-out. He had never loved art like he loved music. Nothing about a box of charcoal spoke to him the way that a melody could. 

Meanwhile, Lance sketched away. There were some immediate things he realized though. One, macrame is a horrible fashion choice. Two, macrame is impossible to draw. And three, Professor Smythe was indeed wearing shoes, but they were those abominable toe shoes that outdoorsy white dads wear to the farmers market. His soul hurt from having to draw any part of what his professor was wearing. Nonetheless, he drew. This class was supposed to be easy. One that everyone had to take and could coast through, but no. None of that seemed to matter to Coran H.W. Smythe. Of course, it wouldn’t. The only thing that seemed to matter to this man was preserving the ancient art of underwater basket weaving, going to the Renaissance Faire and correcting the actors, and apparently, homemade kombucha. This man was like an organic nightmare. Sure he seemed nice, but could anyone really get past that mustache?

“Alright everyone, times up!” Coran announced with a clap, “Now everyone, take out your drawings and grab some push pins, let’s all see what you’ve got!”.

The entire mood of the class plummeted. No one was expecting their art to be shown on the first day of a mandatory class. Half of these kids were pottery majors and with good reason. There was a slow shuffle as papers were torn out of notebooks and slowly pinned to the bulletin board. Lance pinned his up towards the top, quickly returning to his seat. Keith did the same, as did everyone in the class. 

“Oh ho ho! Look at all of this wonderful art! You all are very talented!” Coran grinned, pacing back and forth with his scrutinous gaze. His comment caused a handful of uncomfortable laughs.

Lance spotted a familiar shirt on the board, covering shoulders spackled in freckles. Looking closer, the nuances of the way his shirt laid were unique. The way the freckles were drawn, they almost looked like stars. He softly smiled. Keith was clearly not telling him some things when it came to talents that he held.

Keith scanned the art pieces, the boring color of a number two pencil spanning far too many pieces. However, there was one piece that stood out in bright technicolor, for better and for worse. Sure Keith had seen the beginning of the piece, but he was so distracted by shoulders- go figure- that he didn’t see the end. It was clearly a choice, but in his opinion, it was a good choice.

Coran paced back and forth, twirling a mustache like a man who owned an impressive compost pile. He stopped in front of a cluster of impressive pieces, clearly made by the studio art students. Smiling, he turned on his heel to make some comments to the respective artists.

“Now I’m not expecting immediate greatness from all of you, considering that this is a requirement for all art students, but I have to say that this is actually quite impressive. Even though some of you will be leaving me next year, there are some remarkable styles that are coming to play,” he stood triumphantly. 

The class seemed to flow right on by without a hitch, thankfully. Lance spun his pen between his fingers, playing a game mentally of counting all the tiles on the floor. He made it to seventy-two by the time that it was actually time to go. The zipping of backpack zippers started a domino effect and soon enough Coran could hardly be heard over the sound of shuffling papers and binders clipping. He called out a goodbye as students began to file out into the hallway. Lance haphazardly zipped up his back, shoving his pen deep into his pocket. Pushing his stool in with a foot, he waved back at Coran and headed out. Hanging outside the door, Lance hummed to himself before the signature black mullet passed through the doorway. He threw an arm around Keith’s shoulders, obviously startling him.

“Hey Mullet, saw your portrait of me,” he flashed a smug grin, “Not too shabby,”.

Fuck Lance was tall. Keith ducked out from Lance’s arm, “Saw your portrait in your nice little four-color pen, nice,”. 

Lance feigned a frown, clutching his shirt, “Ooh, that cut deep, Kogane,”.

Keith rolled his eyes, adjusting his backpack.

“Where are you going now?” Lance prodded, trailing behind him, long legs matching Keith’s quick pace. The hot air was an affront on the senses. Summer was not holding back at all.

“Dunno. Coffee probably,” Keith shrugged, keeping it vague.

“Hey, me too. Wanna hang out?” Lance offered, speeding up to walk in front of him and turning to walk backward.

Keith sighed. This kid was honestly relentless and he was definitely going to be the end of him.

“I guess so,” Keith mumbled.

Lance grinned, “So where do you want to go? We’ve got the whole city. We could do boba tea, coffee, tea, smoothies…”.

He trailed off, trying to give Keith the option to choose. This kid gave way too easily earlier, there was no way that he was just gonna give up entirely.

“Don’t care,” Keith shrugged.

Lance nodded, there’s the pushback he was waiting on.

“Why don’t we do smoothies. It’ll be a good snack for the day too,”.

Keith reluctantly agreed.

“So what’s your day look like today? I don’t have a class until like three,”.

“I’ve got one at 1:45, then another at 3:30. It’s a pretty busy day, I guess,”.

“Sounds like it,” he held the door open for Keith, a wave of cool air rushing over them. 

They walked over to the counter, staring up to the expansive menu.

“Since when did smoothies have to contain every single fruit and quinoa?” Lance stood, utterly dumbfounded.

Keith snorted at that thought, “I mean since single moms have taken over this damn industry in between soccer practices,”.

Lance looked at Keith with an incredulous stare before bursting out into laughter, “I knew you had it in you to not be a stone wall,”. 

Keith blushed, looking away, “Just order your damn smoothie man,”.

Lance smiled, regaining some composure. This kid was something else entirely. He walked up to the counter, gesturing for Keith to come with.

“I’ve got this man, don’t worry about it,” Lance pulled some cash out of a pocket in his backpack, stopping Keith from pulling out his wallet.

“You can’t pay for everything man. It’s just a smoothie,” Keith gave him a weird look.

“Bet,” Lance grinned, “What do you want?”.

“Uhhh…” Keith looked up at the menu, picking one at random, “The tropical blast one, small, I guess,”.

He wasn’t good with cute guys buying him things. Or anyone for that matter.

“One large tropical, one large strawberry banana please,” Lance flashed a charming smile, handing over a twenty dollar bill.

Keith was horrified. This kid pulled out the large out of nowhere and was treating him. What the actual fuck. Now he had to pay this kid back, it was too much. Lance looked back to Keith and was surprised with a terrified look.

“Keith, don’t worry. This is on me. No paybacks. You’re just hanging out with my dumb ass. I’ve got you,”.

“A-are you sure? That was like thirteen dollars worth of smoothies,” Keith was stunned.

“Chill. It’s okay. It’s the first day of school, just go easy on yourself,”.

Keith slightly nodded. He knew for a fact that neither of them had enough money to truly afford excessively expensive smoothies, but damn this kid was kind.  
They sat a table by the window, setting their backpacks at their feet. Keith sat down just as their order was called up. Lance immediately got up, walking over. Why the hell was this kid being so nice to him? He didn’t even know him at all, yet was treating him like family. It must be well-intentioned but honestly, it was kinda weird.

Lance sat back down, sliding a cup across the table.

“So I gotta ask,” Keith started the conversation before things got any weirder, “Why are you being so nice to me?”.

Lance was taken aback, “What do you mean?”.

“I just… we only met yesterday, but like… you’re almost like treating me like you’ve known me for a really long time? Like buddy. That was thirteen dollars for fucking smoothies. You don’t know me,”.

Lance’s expression fell, “Oh, I just thought we could be friends or something. You seemed cool ‘n then you were in my class. I can stop or whatever. I just thought it’d be cool to hang out,”.

His head flooded with thoughts. Maybe he had said something wrong. Maybe he had come on too strong. Maybe he was too much. Maybe it was everything about him that had fucked this up. Keith’s heart dropped to his stomach. He was wrong. This kid really just was well-intentioned.

“I uh, can leave you be, sorry. I’ll just see you around, okay?” Lance got up, shouldering his backpack.

“Wait,” Keith stood up, stopping him in his tracks, “That’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean it in a mean way at all, I just didn’t get why you were being so generous to a more-or-less stranger,”.

“My mom always said you have to be a friend to make a friend. It’s just how I was raised I guess,” he shrugged, grabbing his drink from the table, “I’ll see you ‘round, Mullet,”.

Lance gave a slight wave before dipping outside and heading back to campus. He obviously had to give Keith time if anything. He was once again, too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so after everything "happened" with voltron, i'm gonna be sitting here rewriting the whole show! klance is canon king! how about that.


End file.
